Skin Conditions & the other 99 confessions of L
by The.Dust.Of.Jack
Summary: L speaks the truth for the first time in his life.


Title: Skin Conditions (and the other ninety-nine confessions of L).

Rating: Teens

Pairing: None...really

Warnings: Nothing of importance. I will warn if there are any spoilers.

Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm just seriously pissing about with them. As usual. xD

Summary: L speaks the truth for the first time in his life.

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1. I was a teenager when the fact I had Eczema and psoriasis became obvious, which are practically the same thing, but more or less disgustingly hard to handle. The problem with them was the fact when I would have outbreaks it would appear on my face or scalp, which both itched and looked horrific – as if I were falling apart; dead and animated, like a particularly ugly zombie. I'm not a vain person, but it is irritating to know that when my skin does flare up it does so, not on elbows or arms or legs like most other people, but across my chin and cheeks. Therefore, somewhat irrationally, it angers me that Raito-kun didn't even have to go through the pain of having spots, judging by the photographs of the beautiful boy which he always has been.

2. I bite my nails. Not usually, but often enough. Though, I always have enough nail to hurt someone, should it come down to that, as it has done in the past where I have been fighting with Raito-kun. But, to be fair, he has enough nail to return the favour, and his fighting style is just as vicious and biting when he really becomes mad as my own, and so playing dirty with hard grips and skin meeting nail is an option often worth the consideration.

3. I began learning Capoeira in the middle of a case. In fact, it wasn't very long after me and Naomi Misora worked together in order to catch Beyond Birthday when I mastered it. I am both a quick learner and an energetic human being when the mood takes me, and getting arrested that once for attempting (and, admittedly, failing) to perform my Capoeira was a slight inconvenience, but I believe that the knowledge gained through my failure about mine and Misora-san's chosen art was worth the three hours sat in custody without any sweet substance of any kind.

4. I am a big fan of Misa Misa. Admittedly, she wasn't someone that I had great knowledge about until she became number two on my suspect list, but I had always had some vague sense of her presence through her popularity, particularly among the Japanese, though it did stretch overseas to America and China. But also, I knew about her parents, having heard about the case in passing conversations. It seemed a bit pedestrian and fairly usual for my own tastes, so had ignored it and trusted the police to handle the murder case which was practically a stroll in the garden when compared to my cases. But recently, I have looked into Misa Misa's work and found she does have great talent. While her photoshoots and fashion style is always portrayed in a rather stereotypical way, I can see her potential should she one day grow up and start acting her age. Maybe it is not Misa Misa I am a fan of, but rather the idea of Misa Misa – the budding beauty queen, with the traumatic past and the apparent drugs charge. She seems, with all this behind her, a little too old to still be modelling clothes with a cartoon kitten on them.

5. I lust for Raito-kun… I think. This isn't something which is easy to say, or admit, because I am honestly not sure. Raito-kun is smart; a genius, cleverer than perhaps even I am, and while this concept scares me and angers me to a degree, it also excites me because I have not seen anyone at such a level to match and surpass me, even in my heirs. Raito-kun is both socially brilliant and beautiful, meaning that everything is ready to be laid out for him with that perfect combination of brains, beauty and social know-how which is so lacking in other geniuses. I, myself, admit to being made of totally brains, with a distinct lack in beauty and common sense which lesser people have. I always wonder what must give in Raito-kun, for something has to be missing in order to make sure he is honestly human. I often conclude that this chunk which is missing may in fact be Raito-kun's humanity – this inhumanity would logically led him to become Kira and be able to so easily kill without showing reaction, be it blinking or his heart race increasing. But then I remember Kira thinks he is doing the world a favour; that he is showing kindness towards innocents by letting them live and throwing justice towards those he sees as wrong doers. This would have stemmed from a love of humanity or a mental problem. Probably both. This then leads to a scary question – should I be blaming and pointing fingers and threatening execution to a person with a real hitch or disfigurement in their brains? Should I be instead getting a straight jacket ready and preparing myself to be rid of Kira, but only so far as to the nearest high-security psychiatric hospital? Can I blame a person for the murders they've committed when they have a serious problem in their heads which need professionals to help them, with perhaps a bit of brain surgery. Can I say that Kira's actions are not his own because of his multiple complexes, or too much of a certain chemical or too little of another, or a brain wired up wrong in the womb? Yes, I could, but I don't particularly want to. I look to Raito-kun and I try to imagine the idea that he has a psychological problem, and it is always hard. Raito-kun is completely sane, excluding perhaps the Kira part, and if it weren't for Kira he'd still be in school where he shouldn't be, trying to fit in and failing, then eventually going the long way to reach his potential. I don't know whether to hate Kira for bringing Raito-kun to me to help and mould, or whether to love him. Raito-kun is a treasure, a diamond chipped by society and his efforts to at least appear usual, and it hurts me to see that. All these conflicted feelings, all the doubts and worries and rising and falling percentages which always remain significant enough for me to know Raito-kun is Kira – they all lead back to the idea that I care for Raito-kun like no one else. I do not care for him as I care for Watari, or respect him as I do Yagami-san, for I cannot respect Kira no matter how hard I try to convince myself Kira is still the brilliant, beautiful Raito-kun, rather than the brilliant, beautiful Raito-kun is Kira. I am not sure to go so far as to say I wish for him in less that strictly platonic ways, but I cannot be sure if I wish to say otherwise, either. Feelings are funny things, and I do not know why I ever bothered trying to figure mine out when I can hardly figure those which belong to other people, either.

6. I'm not a complete social retard, thank you very much, though I suppose I come close. I understand human nature enough to recognise social norms and values and how much some things mean to one person and less to another, and I am able to utilise this knowledge in order to manipulate those whom I need information from. Sometimes sitting them in a room with a camcorder and only my scrambled voice for company is not enough, as proved by Misa Amane.

7. I lied. My first friend was called Jane. She lived in her family down the street from the orphanage, and she was always told not to go near those strange children who lived there. She had a sense of adventure though, and snuck into the grounds one night whilst I was sneaking out. We bumped into each other very literally and then ran in opposite directions from each other. She saw me again the next day when I went with Wammy to the sweet shop in the centre, but she didn't wish to get in trouble so just waved when her mother wasn't looking. I hesitantly waved back and when Wammy asked who it was I had shrugged and told him I didn't know. I looked her up later that night, hacking into the hospital computer records as well as the records for the primary school. Her name was Jane, and she was six. I was five at the time, and nervous around people. That was basically the sum of our friendship and perhaps she cannot be called a real friend to me, though she apparently asked a lot about me at the orphanage when I had left for good a few years later.

8. I lie a lot, actually. This, perhaps, isn't very surprising.

9. The first band I ever saw in concert was_ Steps_. It wasn't really my fault, and I hadn't particularly wanted to go, but I was in England for the case and pursuing a murderer around the West Midlands. The police were incompetent and I had decided to send them off in the opposite direction whilst myself and Watari did the chase instead, as it would be a lot simpler, a lot quicker, a lot easier in the long run, and with fewer headaches. The murderer, a man called Phillip Helms, had taken his little girl Angelika to a _Steps_ concert to distract her from the fact her mummy was missing (found three days previous by my own team, at the bottom of Trent River in the East Midlands). Watari had me covered by a sniper as I snuck in, no doubt looking 'dodgy', but that didn't matter – what mattered was the safety of these people who were in danger simply because this man loved his daughter to a degree which I found truly stupid, and protected her from those he thought were a danger to her, such as her mother who had made her eat Brussels sprouts last Christmas against her will, or her school teacher who had made her do P.E. when she felt sick, or her uncle, who probably _was_ a pervert, but that didn't really mean anything in the long run. It was a struggle to find him in the dancing stadium full of happy, oblivious fans, and was worse when I tried to arrest him – unable to get my voice above the sounds of the pop band. He misconstrued what I had said, probably due to his not hearing me at all, and assumed that I was as dodgy as everyone else probably thought – pouncing on me in an instant for even being in his daughter's presence. People around us tried to pull him off of me, but I was able to kick him away as well. They held him as I pulled out a police badge (stolen by Watari for me from the police station earlier that day) and snapped a cuff around his wrist. I told Angelika to follow, and the other people holding him - two women on one arm and one of the women's husband on the other - helped me take him away, their own children following obediently and silently, wondering what was happening. As we left other interested parents had dragged themselves and their kids away from the show in order to watch this new one unfold. We met Watari just outside the stadium where he took over and allowed me to make a quick dash before people started asking more awkward questions. I wondered why I had even thought it would be a good idea to go in myself when Watari was capable enough of looking after himself and would have probably seemed less suspicious that an emaciated teenage kid like I was at the time. Also, he was better equipped to have a protective, murderous, psychopathic father jump on him in all his muscled glory, and I scolded myself as I hid in the car for being so ridiculous. But, at the same time, the end would have been the same, so I didn't beat myself up too vigorously.

10. My first love was a young woman called Amy. It was a crush that lasted about 3 days when I was forced into her presence by sheer accident. You see, someone foolishly believed that I was a student when I was investigating a potential crime scene at a University in Vermont in the summer of 2001, and that I was lost. I was hustled into a room where fourteen other people were sat, all a range of ages and ethnicities and I was just another new face in the crowd. I stood a bit awkwardly at the front for a while, trying to evaluate what subject course they could all be here for. I decided on either Sociology or Russian, but couldn't be sure which. It was Amy who noticed me, as I stood there looking ridiculous and blank, and she beckoned me over. She said hello, making sure I was here for Sociology. I almost told her, no, because I'm here for a crime scene, there's been a murder, didn't you know? Well... there will be. No, it hasn't _technically_ happened yet. But I refrained, answering her question with a yes. Yes, I am here to learn about theories including Marxism and Interactionism and Functionalism and the New Right as well as others, and listen to what they say about society and its structures – egotistically presuming that we care. Well, these people in here must care, because they paid to be here. She had laughed at me, and talked to me, not mentioning my particular way of sitting or speaking or wondering out loud why I was fidgeting so much (the answer being there was a murderer on the loose as well as the fact I had no sweets, having left them with Watari in the car, presuming I'd be gone mere minutes. I dreaded to think how long this would take, though I presumed about an hour, maybe an hour and a half. Anything, really, up to two hours. At such a thought, I was considering leaving right then and there). I listened to the lecture with half attention when the teacher came in and started, but it wasn't anything I didn't already know and he said it in such a dull tone that it would have bored me even if it was new. I was watching out the window, having text Watari before the class began to tell him of my untimely misfortune (which Watari had been apparently very amused at before taking over my role and continuing doing as I had been before I was swept away to this horrific hour of nonsense). Nothing much was happening outside, either, and I wished silently to be in a dark, locked room, with nothing but the glow of a computer and a large bowl full of Ferrero Rocher and a homicide to solve.  
Amy shook me lightly a while into my day dream of murder and hazelnut chocolate and I looked at her lazily, not startled as I was never disassociated from reality fully, in case someone realises who I am and tries to kill me so I won't be able to figure out why they felt compelled to kill their great, great aunt Minnie (inheritance. Boring). "Yes?" I asked her, and she smiled up at me sweetly.  
"The lecture is over." She said, and I glanced to the side briefly and realised everyone else was packing up and leaving. "Are you going to leave?"  
"Certainly." I had replied. "No doubt that was a polite way of asking me to move."  
She giggled at me, and I ignored it for the most part, picking myself off of my chair and turning to walk away.  
"Hey," She said, and I turned back, assuming that she was talking to me, though there was at least a 3% chance she was shouting to someone else. Luckily, I was correct in my presumption. "Do you want to have coffee sometime?"  
"I do not drink coffee." I replied, trying to evaluate why she was asking me.  
"Tea, then?" She tried. I nodded.  
"Yes, I do drink tea." I said, and she smiled.  
"Great! Tomorrow?"  
"I plan on having a tea as soon as I find Wilfred, actually." I had said, referring to Watari, but she didn't know that and I didn't feel the need to elaborate. She rolled her eyes at my reply.  
"I mean, go to a coffee shop and have tea."  
"But I can have tea at my hotel." I said. She blinked.  
"I meant, like a date." It was my turn to be surprised.  
"A date?" I echoed, facts about dates and stereotypical images of them from popular culture running through my head – everything from a peaceful evening at the cinema to a frenzied chase through a major city with crazy psychopaths chasing after you. I wasn't sure I wanted to experience either, to be blunt. She saw my hesitation, even though I knew my face hadn't changed.  
"Just tea." She clarified. "Look, I'll even pay. We'll go to Starbucks and just have some tea." I didn't need someone to pay for me, but if money was a major concern in her life then she shouldn't be offering to throw it at someone she had just met. Either way, it was a sweet thought, if slightly impractical.  
"I had hoped there would be cake involved." I muttered, mainly to myself, and her smile was bright and amused as I said it.  
"Cake sounds wonderful." She said, coming up to me and looping her arms through mine. "So, I'll meet you at the gates here and we'll walk up to Starbucks at lunch tomorrow? About half twelve?"  
I thought about my case, evaluating the time it would take me, and whether I would be done by half twelve tomorrow. I considered the possibility of prompting the murderer into action, causing him to become even more desperate and panicked than he was now, and figured that half twelve would be fine, if cutting it a little close. But, then, Watari could deal with all the legal paperwork which would follow.  
"Half twelve sounds fine." I confirmed. She smiled again.  
"Hey, I never got your name." She realised, and I rolled my eyes. Curious how the world works, I thought, that in some places people can ask a person out without knowing their name and not even having a full conversation with, and in another culture you could be executed for it. Well, no, you couldn't, but I personally thought you should.  
"Liam." I said. "And yours?" Even though I knew it from the fact she had signed it on her pieces of paper throughout the class, introduced herself once to the professor when she had a question, and also had it stitched to the inside of her bag, indicating that she worked in a place of uniform, where even the bags looked similar.  
"Amy." She said. "Amy Conner."  
She left with me when we found Watari, and he opened the door for me and I nodded towards Amy through the rolled down window as I grabbed my bag of Tooty Fruities and prepared to set off. She was too amazed by the Rolls Royce to manage much more than a weak 'bye' as I said my own, no doubt wondering if she had bitten off more than she should chew in her choice of a so-called 'date' after finding I was much more than the tatty, anarchic son of some mediocre middle-class family, rebelling through wearing second-hand clothes, refusing to brush my hair. But still, I found I was excited as we drove away, but yet the thought of offering her a lift home had never even occurred to me.  
When I next met her the day after she had plenty of questions for me, no doubt concerning my money. She asked about where I was from and why I was staying in a hotel, and I answered as honestly as can be expected, saying I was from California and had flown up here due to my job. I said I was a consultant for a prestigious company, and that one of the head honchos from the opposing company was in that lecture yesterday and I was keeping my eye on him. She laughed, saying I was crazy, and went through with her promise of buying me as much and as many teas as I wished. I privately wondered to myself how Americans can go so wrong with tea and England so right when it wasn't even from England in the first place. I also had half a cheesecake and some caramel shortbreads with two chocolate drenched flapjacks and a slice of Victoria Sponge. Amy herself had a egg and cress sandwich with only two of the three biscuits which came with her tea on the side. I asked my own questions, but didn't gain much of any particular interest when I look back on the time. But back then, I found it fascinating – found her fascinating, with her dark hair and large eyes and happy smile and the excitement she held in everything she did. To her, I must have seemed more dreary then most people find me, but yet she was the one to have asked me here. I marvelled at it, shocked by my own worry that she may not have found me – to be fair, alias Liam. 'L' isn't something anything so trivial as a monotone can put a damper on – too pedestrian, too boring. The lunch was cut short at one-fifteen when my phone rung informing me the suspect – apprehended this morning, thanks to my vicious anticipation to get him out of the way before twelve-thirty – had gotten away. I hung up on them whilst they were in the middle of their panic, apologised to Amy, and said I had to get back to work. She nodded, and I gestured to a waitress to put the remaining cake in a doggy bag. Before I left, Amy passed me a piece of paper with her number on it and asked me to call her.  
The next day, suspect once again successfully apprehended and locked away, I was looking at my phone, where Amy's details were stored, and I was seriously considering pressing the 'call' button. Something was fluttering in my stomach, and the longer I waited the stronger the urge became. I was very close to going through with the idea when Watari had burst in with a new case, telling me more criminals had died suddenly and unexplainably from heart attacks.  
I felt a fire replace that fluttering, as if it had never been there at. I looked back down to Amy's number, and wondered briefly to myself why I had even bothered to think about it. I closed my phone, and didn't consider it again.

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TBC

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A/N: Pah, well, I've made it a bit bulkier. There is more, but this is quite hefty going for something with no plot, so I've thought to make it shorter chapters so you don't have to read it all in one sitting. No plot is horrible. Why did I ever bother in the first place?


End file.
